


Holiday Traditions

by SvengoolieCat



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, One Shot, Q and Moneypenny as BFFs, Traditions, bad holiday movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 04:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SvengoolieCat/pseuds/SvengoolieCat
Summary: Q and Moneypenny have a standing holiday tradition of marathoning the cheesiest Christmas movies they can find and heckling them mercilessly.





	Holiday Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> un-betaed, so as usual all mistakes are part of my own natural charm.
> 
> Happy Holidays, everyone!

 

 

“We still on?” Q asked Moneypenny. He’d just finished a debrief with M and 007 was still lurking on the fringes to flirt with Moneypenny, but her attention was on Q.

“Barring World War III, yes,” she said. “I stocked up on cocoa, dark chocolate with marshmallows.”

“I have Baileys and enough peppermint schnapps to make the whole world merry,” Q reported.

“Fabulous,” she said.

007 was still lurking, looking mildly confused as his blue eyes bounced from one to the other.

“Are there plans?” 007 asked.

Q clapped him on the shoulder on his way out the door. “Nothing you’d want to be party to, 007. Really. Have a good weekend.”

Q and Moneypenny had a long-standing holiday tradition of marathoning the cheesiest Christmas movies they could find (although the Hallmark Channel and Netflix made that easy anymore). It had started way back when they were both new to the agency, when Moneypenny was just a green baby agent and Q was a just a junior cyber security specialist who still had a name. Q had helped Moneypenny with some of her missions, and they’d struck up an easy friendship.

Since neither one of them had much family and working in the Secret Service meant that holidays were negotiable, they started their own tradition predicated on times when Moneypenny was in-country, and when Q wasn’t up to his elbows in cyber-trolls. They took a weekend off and switched off hosting every year—regardless of weather, boyfriends, or anything else that might be going on—and mercilessly heckled the movies together. Sometimes they managed to have their marathon on Christmas. Usually, they aimed for the closest weekend to the holiday.

This year was Moneypenny’s turn to host, so Q showed up on Friday night at 6pm sharp, laden down with booze, snacks, and a stack of Christmas Movie Bingo sheets he’d generated. She answered on the second ring, her poodle barking and dancing around their feet.

“There are some winners this year,” Moneypenny said, with a cringe. She set Q’s offerings of liquor on the kitchen counter, while he put the cheese and fruit trays in the fridge.

“Better than _A Christmas Prince_?” asked Q, snickering, referring to the previous year’s pièce de résistance.

“Oh, royalty is out,” Moneypenny said. She made the first round of hot cocoa. This consisted of two of the ugliest Christmas coffee mugs that she’d been able to find, packets of Swiss Miss cocoa, a liberal pour of Bailey’s Irish Cream, and hot water.

“Oh dear. Then what’s the trend?”

Moneypenny snorted, and put on a sports-caster’s voice. “She’s a misunderstood entrepreneur with A Dream and he is a sensitive artist-type with Feelings who becomes Inspired By True Love.”

“And one of them is a workaholic Grinch with a lightly-tragic backstory, while the other is brimming with Christmas cheer and goodwill to man,” Q said. He cracked open a tin of Danish butter cookies and offered her one.

“Bonus points if there’s a small child or a dog in there, somewhere,” Moneypenny said.

“And there’s snow and small towns with kitschy names.”

“Naturally,” Moneypenny said. “Get your fuzzy socks and pajama pants, and let’s do this.”

 

**Friday, 8:45 pm.**

Q was sprawled over the sofa, Moneypenny in her favorite recliner. The first round of hot cocoa and half the tin of cookies had been demolished.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I thought that guy was the Plucky Heroine’s gay best friend…Now he’s dating Plucky Heroine’s best lady friend? No, no, I don’t buy it.” Q waved a finger at the screen as emphasis.

“Pfft, there are no gays in Hallmark-ville,” Moneypenny said, with the same tone of voice as if she were informing him that there wasn’t any crying in baseball. “All awkward and unconvincing straights, all the time.”

“Not with that level of perfect grooming and hair product,” Q groused. "And look at that jumper and shirt combo! Only gays and Mormon serial killers from the 1950s would wear that."

"You'd know, dearie." Moneypenny was trying very hard not to laugh at the outraged kitten ensconced on her sofa.

"Damn not-straight, I would," he said. "More Baileys?"

"Please."

 

**Friday, 11pm.**

“Holiday party aside, what woman walks down an icy street in a cute summer dress, a coat that’s clearly more fashionable than warm, and high heels?” asked Moneypenny. “Because none of that makes sense.”

“Cold is cute in Hallmark-ville,” said Q, wiggling unfashionable fuzzy socks with tiny Christmas trees on them. “And girls never actually fall down, not when there’s a big strong guy around to catch them.”

“Whoop, there she goes,” Moneypenny said.

The Adorably Klutzy Heroine wobbled and slipped on her icy front-door step and was duly caught by the Hero’s quick reflexes and big strong arms. She giggled, and there was a long moment of staring into each other’s eyes.

“And he goes in for a kiss…” Q started.

“Only to be interrupted,” Moneypenny finished.

The Heroine’s little old neighbor opened their door, causing the not-quite lovebirds (who had only met the day before) to part with more moon eyes and guilty giggling and hurried goodnights.

“Called it,” Moneypenny said, saluting the screen with her hot cocoa mug.

 

**Saturday, 10am.**

Q and Moneypenny sat side by side on the sofa, slippered feet on the coffee table, nursing their second cup of coffee each. The dog snored in her dog bed by the Christmas tree, paws twitching as she chased a dream squirrel.

“Oh, look! Q, there is a black person _and_ an Asian in this one! With speaking roles!”

“Diversity!” Q cheered, clinking his coffee (spiked liberally with Bailey’s) against Moneypenny’s and they toasted the TV. “Huzzah for more than just one token person of color in a sea of affluent white people.”

“It is truly a Christmas miracle,” Moneypenny intoned, marking off the square on her bingo sheet.

 

**Saturday, 4:00pm.**

Q was sitting upside down on the sofa, long legs draped over the back as he watched the opening credits roll. The dog stopped looking concerned for his well-being a while ago and resumed gnawing on a rawhide treat.

“He’s a small-town cop with a K-9 partner, she’s a big city veterinarian who got guilted into returning to her hometown for the holidays. _Whatever_ shall happen, Miss Moneypenny?” asked Q.

“Not a murder, that’s for sure,” Moneypenny lamented. “Why, oh why, is there never a cute Christmas rom-com centered around solving a murder or three?”

“I know, right?” Q said. “They give us a law enforcement character! Would it be too much of a stretch to give us a happy little murder of a local Grinch or something? It would be fun.”

“Not to mention the idiotic but fun title opportunities. _Hear the Slay Bells Jingling_. _Murder on 34 th Street_…”

They both thought about it for a moment, feeling a little disappointed.

“We might be a little twisted,” Q said.

“Let’s detox with some _Die Hard_ next.”

 

**Sunday, 9:57am.**

“We’re in the last three minutes of the movie. There’s the camera shot of the sprig of mistletoe. Time for the lovebirds’ first kiss and the Big Feelings Reveal,” Moneypenny said, projecting her voice like a sports announcer. She fanned herself with a Bingo sheet. “This is so smutty, I don’t know how I can stand it, Q.”

“Between the khakis, layers of clothing that cover everything except face and hands, and the general air of sexual repression, I think Puritans write these,” Q said.

[next film, 10 minutes later]

“ _I think you should host Christmas this year, Kerri! We really want to see what Christmas is like in Salem, Massachusetts_!” chirped the Heroine’s Enviably Well-Adjusted Older Sister with Conservative Nuclear Family.

Q and Moneypenny looked at each other.

“Puritans,” they said in unison.

 

**Sunday, 12:15pm.**

“Oh, the fake relationship trope is my favorite,” Q said. “I’m serious. It’s the best.”

They were both sprawled out on opposite ends of the sofa, sharing a gigantic throw blanket and shoveling Chinese takeout. On screen, the Heroine, a sparkly redhead whose heart had been broken ten years ago and who had been stubbornly single ever since, hatches a plan with the Hero (who had also been dumped once in his life and sworn off love forever) to pretend to be each other’s dates for the holidays to appease their meddling families.

Moneypenny guffawed. “I’ll keep it in mind for a cover next time you go out in the field. Shall I arrange for only one bed at the hotel, too? By the way, Bond thinks we’re having an affair, now.”

Q thumped her with a throw pillow. Then thought about it. "Only if the agent is suitably attractive and single. Preferably male, but you know, exceptions happen."

Moneypenny rolled her eyes. "How do you feel about emotionally constipated blue-eyed blonds?"

Laughing, she threw up an arm to ward off another furious pillow-thump.

 

**Sunday, 2pm**

“This is the last one on my roster,” Moneypenny said. “Feast your eyes upon it!”

Q looked at the screen in horror and clutched a pillow to his chest as if to hide behind it. “No, no, no. You said royalty was out! Is that what I think it is?”

“I lied,” she said. “Royalty is always in. And yes. _A Christmas Prince: The Royal Wedding_ is the sequel none of us wanted but got anyway. Merry Christmas!”

“I really, really hate you right now,” Q said, muffled.

She ruffled his wild hair.

“You have a whole year to plot your revenge,” she said, consolingly. “I look forward to it.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
